


La Rouge et Le Blanc (Rivamika Week 2014)

by alienheartattack (Sanneke)



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Duelling, F/M, France (Country), Julie d'Aubigny - Freeform, Swordfighting
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-01-04
Updated: 2015-01-04
Packaged: 2018-03-05 09:00:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,650
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3113969
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sanneke/pseuds/alienheartattack
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The two greatest duelists in France, La Rouge and Le Blanc, join forces to seek revenge against a common enemy. This is just a beginning, so I’d like to expand this in the future to include the smut and violence that will inevitably occur when these two get together.</p>
            </blockquote>





	La Rouge et Le Blanc (Rivamika Week 2014)

"I hear," comes a disembodied flat voice at the other end of the dark alley, "that La Rouge made that sour-faced von Leonhardt girl sing like a mockingbird." The voice snickers. "Solemn as a nun. Who knew that sad little thing was such a libertine? Too bad it seems she’s chosen the adept’s life instead of a life by the side of a criminal."

The man’s voice echoes down the alley, one of many in this corner of Paris, to reach the ears of La Rouge, swordswoman in men’s clothing, gentleman thief, legend in the making, alias Mikasa Ackerman — she continues to use her maiden name, refusing to adopt the moniker of her husband in name only. She turns towards the origin of the voice. “Come out of the shadows and say that to my face, coward.” The alley is lit with sparsely-placed torches, affording plenty of places for an attacker to hide. Mikasa rests one gloved hand on her trusty sabre, purloined from her husband’s collection, and places the other so that she can easily retrieve the dagger hidden at her waist.

There are footsteps, and then she can make out the dim glow of an impeccably bleached cravat, a frothy waterfall of silk standing starkly against a dark green waistcoat.

"Le Blanc," she hisses.

"The one and only," he answers, stepping into a pool of dim torchlight. " _Bon soir_ , La Rouge. Visiting the gaming clubs? Or merely indulging in a few spirits to soothe your broken heart?”

Mikasa presses her hand to the flat chest of her scarlet brocade waistcoat. “Your words wound me,” she replies sarcastically, pouting as she speaks. “Is it because you know your blade cannot?”

Le Blanc chuckles, then unsheathes his sword. Even in the dim light of the alley, Mikasa can see firelight dancing on steel. “Is that a challenge?” he asks.

"Of course it is. Bois du Boulogne, six o’clock tomorrow morning." Her voice is calm, and she walks away before he can get a word in edgewise. "I’ll see you then, if you can bear to show up," she calls out behind her.

Le Blanc is supposed to be the best swordsman in France, but their duel is as short as he is. They touch swords — as they meet, she teases him about using a foil instead of a sabre, he insinuates that her sword sacrifices speed for power — then turn their backs and walk twenty measured paces away from each other, then turn once more. Mikasa can make out her opponent in the first rays of dawn, as well as his manservant — her estranged adoptive brother, Eren Yeager, who ran away from their home and a promising life as a country doctor in order to play lapdog to an aristocrat and a criminal.

"Un!" Eren cries, lifting one of his master’s spare cravats in the air. "Deux!"

To the untrained eye, it happens thusly: the manservent yells, “Trois!” and releases the lacy cloth from his grip. The swordsmen run at each other, their booted feet flying silently against the dew-coated grass in the park. There is the clang of clashing steel, then Le Blanc falls, clutching his shoulder. The cravat lands on the ground seconds before Le Blanc does; it is over that quickly.

What happens in the sharply trained hawk-eyes of the combatants happens similarly, but within their brief struggle lies a microcosm of strategic decisions that eventually spell doom for Le Blanc. When they clash, his blade rests close to her throat, mere inches from the thin strip of her neck not covered by her terribly unfashionable crimson scarf. And that is where Le Blanc makes his fatal error: he finds La Rouge terribly annoying and wouldn’t mind wounding her, but has no designs on killing her. Mikasa, on the other hand, has died so many times she no longer fears it, so when she makes a feint  _toward_  his blade he panics and tries to draw his sword away from her, grazing her right cheek with the tip of the foil. In his retreat he leaves open a space just wide enough for La Rouge to thrust her sword forward, plunging it an inch into his deltoid, then drawing it out quickly, followed by a spray of dark blood.

"Eren!" Le Blanc cries out from the ground, his teeth clenched. "Take me home, then send for Dr. Zoë." The manservant complies without a word, picking up the cravat and stuffing it into the inside pocket of his waistcoat, then rushing over to help his master to his feet. Mikasa merely stands there, watching them while Eren packs up Le Blanc in his carriage and spurs the horses toward the man’s estate.

Three days later, Mikasa takes dinner alone, as she always does. Her husband has been traveling elsewhere on the continent for months now, taking advantage of the fact that society sees nothing amiss when a manservant sleeps in his master’s room, though she thinks Jean’s reputation (and hers by extension) would suffer immeasurably if people knew that the two men shared a bed as well. She wishes them well and welcomes the solitude and the opportunity to pursue less socially acceptable endeavors.

As she cuts into a thick slice of pork splashed with garlic sauce, her butler slips into the room and passes her a calling card embossed with the familiar curved initials of her brother. “Bring Eren in and offer him a plate,” she replies solemnly. She is not sure why he would come here, past normal hours to call upon one’s family and without any notice, eight months after the last time he deigned to appear at her doorstep. She finds out soon after he takes a seat at her table and devours three portions of pork, half a roast chicken, two servings of salad, and an entire roasted artichoke before he tells her what his business is.

"Does Le Blanc not feed you?" Mikasa asks with a sarcastic grin after Eren finally marks the end of his meal by dropping his embroidered napkin over his plate and letting out a huge belch.

"He prefers lighter fare, and the rest of us have to follow his diet," he replies, leaning back in his chair. "I haven’t eaten this well in years."

She frowns and thinks that his mother would be ashamed to see the way his manners have deteriorated. She has less patience for him than she thought she did, especially considering his association with Le Blanc. “Why are you here?”

"Levi wishes to see you," Eren replies, fishing a toothpick from his waistcoat.

"Levi?"

"I— shit. Please don’t tell him I told you his name."

Mikasa rolls her eyes. “Le Blanc’s Christian name is Levi? What’s his last name?”

Eren smiles and looks away from her. “You’re not going to like it.”

* * *

"Your surname is  _Ackerman?_ " Mikasa rages as she storms into Levi’s bedchamber. The man formerly known as Le Blanc lies convalescing on a four-postered mahogany bed decorated with a green velvet canopy and golden tassels, propped up on a small mountain of multicolored pillows, naked from the waist up save for bandages wrapped around his shoulder and arm. Mikasa trains her eyes on his face, trying to ignore the leanly delineated muscles that run down his arms and in his chest and abdomen.

"That it is, Madame  _Kirschstein_ ,” he says coolly, then raises an intricately painted china teacup to his lips. “Or are you not using that name? I can never recall the vagaries of society gossip.”

"I should kill you right here," she spits, unsheathing her dagger.

Levi sits up straight, then grimaces as the wound on his shoulder shifts. “Slow your blade, La Rouge. It’s only fair that we remain on equal terms. You know my name, I know yours. Shall I call you Mikasa?”

"Only if I may call you Levi," she says in an uncertain tone.

"You may."

She fingers the dagger in her hand, then decides to put it away. “So why did you call me here?” Mikasa asks, folding her arms across her chest. Although she knows this is probably a social call, given the revelation of their shared contacts, she has appeared before him as La Rouge, with her men’s clothing and her blades (although Eren reluctantly confiscated her sabre upon entering Levi’s home). For some reason it feels safer that way.

Levi puts down his teacup on a tray and rakes one hand through the sheaf of dark hair that hangs in his eyes. “Because we have an enemy in common: the Comte.”

"Is dear Uncle Kenny still calling himself the Comte d’Ackerman?" She laughs bitterly; the noise ceases as abruptly as it begun. "You want my help to pave your way to inherit the House? Are you mad?"

"I’m not part of the family," he says, his mouth hardening into a straight line. "I was Kenny’s ward, just as you were Eren’s father’s. There’s nothing official, so I’m not in line. You’d be the Comtesse."

"And what’s in it for you?"

"La Rouge." Mikasa narrows her eyes at him, demanding an explanation without saying a word. Levi rolls his eyes, then explains himself: "You assume the life of a proper society lady and stop this masquerade. You allow Le Blanc to resume his activities without any interference."

"No," she says. "I’d give you the seat of the House of Ackerman before I gave you La Rouge. I’d give you my life first."

Levi looks over at her as though she is insane. “You really care so much about your little persona?”

"If you are the same urchin that Uncle Kenny took in, then you know what it is like to have nothing else."

He thinks it over for a moment, then nods firmly. “Then have some tea with me, and we can discuss perhaps joining our efforts on a more permanent basis.”


End file.
